t h r e e.

[━━one false move]

YELENA BELOVA WAS finally free. She was walking through the streets of Budapest, where there were just enough people for her to blend in. In their bustle, in their business, none of them noticed a blonde woman whose unnatural stillness set her apart. Even a specially trained eye would struggle to pick her out in this seething mass of busy minds.

A few of those people would walk away with emptier pockets than they'd started with, though Yelena's were certainly heavier. Within half an hour, she'd found a street vendor and had bought herself a vest - the first thing she'd bought save for food, and had slipped it on quickly, finding it comfortable. Not only that, but it helped to rid her of the feel of exposure to the wind and the people around her. She loathed feeling vulnerable, even though she knew it was only from her upbringing.

Her contact had told her of the apartment she was going to be staying in - though, she'd known about it already. She'd picked him for a reason, and she knew exactly who he was, though she'd had little contact with him aside from text messages from one unknown number to another. He was her sister's favourite contact. Natasha. Half of Yelena missed her, half of her hated her. To avoid those emotions, she'd come to the one place she was sure that Natasha wouldn't come. She wouldn't dare to come back, not when her greatest regret lay along these streets.

It seemed that Natasha had chosen a place with a ridiculous number of stairs, and even though Yelena was perfectly used to physical exertion, it didn't mean she liked it. At least she wouldn't fall out of shape in the days that she found herself holed up, but she doubted that that would be an issue anyway.

The apartment itself, she found to be host to lingering ghosts. Nasty holes scarring the plaster of the walls, a gash from a knife raked across the wooden table in the living room, scraps of paper covered in scrawled Russian stuffed here and there. She recognised the n's - this was Natasha's writing, each slip coated in ink that seemed to be the same pattern repeated over and over. Natasha had been reminding herself who she was, and what she would leave behind if she completed the task she'd been set. It seemed her mind had been split down the middle, cleanly. Two sides, bartering for her attention. On one side, her past, still with its wicked claws imbedding their hold on her mind. On the other, the hopes for something new; for something better.

For Yelena, it wasn't anywhere near as simple. Everything in her brain was addled, mixed up, and it was as if her thoughts occurred to her behind some sort of screen that made them muffled to herself. It was specifically that that made her unable to decide whether it was her training or simply her own feelings telling her that she should hate Natasha for leaving her there, for being the only one able to get out.

There was a box by the door, full of things that her contact was clearly clearing out from Natasha's occupation of this place. Envelopes, pamphlets written in blaring Hungarian. It was on a whim that Yelena glanced at the black case on the table, slipped her fingers into many of the pockets of her new vest - there were many, and for that she was immensely thankful - until she found a strip of photos.

A small, sad smile accompanied her movements as she unlatched the box and slipped the memories inside it, and she refused to acknowledge the fact that she was having to stop her hands from shaking. A moment later, the box was shoved into the one by the door, and she had retreated into the armoury, where she felt the most at home.

Natasha hadn't saved her, she reminded herself quietly. She'd left her. There had only been two people who had saved Yelena. Herself, and the dark-skinned girl who wielded silence like it was a weapon of its own.

~

NATASHA ROMANOFF LOVED Norway. It was utterly breath-taking, but it would've been nice to enjoy it when the government wasn't searching for her. At least she had time to herself, to organise her mind and let herself relax now that Mason was gone. He seemed to be under the impression that there was something more between them than anything there was, and Natasha wasn't inclined to deal with that at the moment.

She didn't dare to close her eyes, not when the nightmares had been so frequent recently. Instead, she'd sat down on the sofa in the trailer, and had stuck on a film. She didn't want to deal with the things that still dwelled in the depths of her mind, because it wouldn't go well. It would only send her spiralling further into darkness.

If she dared to try and confront her demons, she would drown in them. If she wanted to defeat the monster she'd once been, she had a feeling she'd only become a worse one. Better not to dwell on things that would only lead to her downfall, not when she only had herself to rely on. 

But the girls she had left behind were always in her head, clouding her thoughts. Every single one of their perfect faces. There had been no room for imperfection in the place that she'd left behind. Two faces, more than others, came to mind.

Yelena's, soft, young, bright face the day they'd been taken from Cuba when they'd still been in Ohio, and then the utter fear and desperation that had coated it only hours later. She wondered what her sister looked like now. If her time in that place had been anything like Natasha's, she wouldn't be innocent and naïve anymore. She was probably cold, calculating, pretty. Just the way they liked it.

Then the image of the face of the girl who had saved her, the memory of her quiet, wispy voice speaking up in a field of silence in the dead of night still ingrained into Natasha's mind. She had a soft face, too. Wide eyes, sharp cheekbones, and somehow in her stillness, an air of comfort and gentleness the like of which Natasha had never seen. Such a person didn't deserve the things that had been done to her. Part of Natasha hoped she was dead, much larger than the piece that hoped that the girl was somehow still alive, still quietly perfect, still saving others from things no girl should have to be saved from.

So she remembered the face of her sister, and she remembered the face of Molotova, the girl who had gifted her safety. The two images hazed before her vision, even as she found herself repeating the lines of the film she was not really watching. Even as the lights shut off, and she was shut in silence and darkness once more. Except this time, she was alone.

~

HADLEY MOLOTOVA DIDN'T know where she was going, and in that moment, it wasn't something her mind was devoted to. She would simply follow her orders as she always did, remain inscrutable on the outside, though even her mind was quiet at the moment.

Normally it thrummed with thought, though most of them were devoted to carrying out her orders in the most efficient way possible. There were stray thoughts every now, and then, though. Whenever she'd been released from the guards' office. When she had been younger, a new part of her body had hurt every time. Now, it was simply repeated, familiar pain.

Sometimes she wondered if everyone felt this pain, and then she remembered the pitch-black nights in the training academy, when the guards had come in and selected a specific girl to be the object of their admiration, as they called it. She'd managed to stop some of the others from experiencing this pain; the ones with an untamed look in her eye. The ones that weren't already broken.

She'd been broken since before she'd arrived.

There had been little she could do without seeming suspicious, seeming as if she had emotions beyond the need to instil fear, and the dread of the higher-ups themselves. But even the number that she had sheltered didn't feel enough, and sometimes, when she had been out on a mission for a few weeks, and their hold had frayed at the seams just a little, guilt poured through. It had always been the first emotion that she felt whenever it had happened, as if it had been storing up underneath some sort of barrier.

She turned her wrist experimentally, and as minutely as possible as she stood, quiet, perfect, in the jet. It was one of the areas that tended to ache more commonly afterwards, and at some point, her reflected self's sleeve had ridden up enough for her to see that the skin had been stained a harsh red, and that blues and purples had begun to seep through. 

It was then that the jet begun to sink below the clouds, and if it were possible, she straightened even more as General Dreykov walked into the back of the jet where she stood. He'd come to oversee this interaction, and while she didn't know why, it was not her place to wonder. The only thing she needed to do was to follow his orders. Where she expected him to stop, he didn't, and stood only inches in front of her, grabbing her face roughly with his hand and pulling it down until she looked him in the eyes. He examined her face carefully, and a small smile twisted his mouth. If Molotova hadn't been used to the stench of alcohol, or under his command, she would've staggered back from the amount of the liquid that coated his breath. He raised a hand and brushed it down the side of her face, ignoring one of the coils of her hair that had sprung free over the course of the flight.

It was the first time in a while that Hadley was truly afraid of him, because he'd never been this close to her before. He was unpredictable, and that meant he was a threat. But he was also in command of her, so she wouldn't do anything. She would endure it, as she always did. She'd been through worse, even earlier that day. 

Dreykov may have been in charge of her thoughts, of everything that she did, but he hadn't broken her. She'd been broken by somebody else, before all of this, and she had retained what she could through that, and she would through this. She was resigned, because she was broken.

He patted her cheek, uttered an utterly complacent 'Follow', and began to walk off of the jet that had landed during the exchange. Dreykov knew how good she was at this. At following orders, of being a nice, quiet, widow who'd never caused him an issue. And she'd grown to be especially good at fighting. She'd had to after all those years in the training academy. She'd survived many more fights than the rest of the widows, and had grown dreadfully adept at the lethal dance they taught.

 She did follow him. Guarded him out of habit, and because that was also ingrained into her, carved into the wood that made up her head. It was empty now, hewn form years of commands and instructions to make space for her own conscious thinking. They had allowed her that much, because she wouldn't be entirely efficient if she needed specific commands each step of the way.

Mechanical whirring and hydraulic gushing hissed in her ears as the ramp lowered, the fresh air ushering in the hold of Russia. A hint of a question never even crossed her mind as she followed Dreykov closely to the large, wire fence that was likely coursing with electricity, to a specific entrance. Shuttered by bushes and guarded by trees, it was a specifically designed entrance, as everything they made was. A back entrance, designed specifically to be hard to notice. Dreykov pressed a code into the pad on the fence, and it swung open immediately.

Hadley just followed. Her mind was finally settling, and she was glad for it. She could focus on what she was meant to now, and forget the permeating ache that burned so many of her muscles. The fresh air, and a head empty allowed her to do what was required of her, and that brought some sense of relief to her.

Dreykov stopped outside the front door, and so did she. His eyes scanned her over once more before he spoke, and Hadley could hear the ill intent behind his words.

"You first." He pressed a hand into the small of her back, acting as if he was pushing her forwards though she'd moved in an instant. She barely noticed his touch, in fact, and instead pushed open the door to the house, her senses waiting for something - anything - to indicate danger. One hand hovered near her thigh, where her gun was holstered, the other by her side and ready to move at the slightest sign of movement.

Dreykov closed the door behind her and brushed his balled shoes off on the welcome mat as she proceeded down the hallway. There was a flicker of a shadow in the living room, and Hadley froze, waiting until something else tipped her off about their possible assailants location. When she drowned everything else out, a set of footsteps, light as a summer breeze, sounded in a room next to her. She waited until they got dangerously close before she acted. Her gun was in her hand in a second, already cocked and ready to fire, a knife having leapt into the other at some point in the careful step she'd taken to balance herself, to prepare for an attack. She swivelled on the spot and met another gun pointed to her own, wielded by a woman with dark brown hair and an aging face. The woman moved quickly, but Hadley moved faster. A moment later, the woman was pinned to the wall, Hadley's dagger to her throat. The woman's muscles tensed swiftly, likely in hopes of retaliation, but Dreykov's voice carried to the pair of them, and Hadley froze.

"There's no need for that, girls." That was still all they were to him. Weak children in his game, his pawns that he could so easily manipulate. Even as the thought barely dared to enter her conscious thought, she pulled back from the woman and took a step back to where Dreykov waited, holstering her gun and sheathing her dagger, knowing that she would have to clean it later. The General surveyed the two women for a moment, a satisfied smile developing as he saw how still the younger of the two had gone. So perfectly under his control, unable to escape. But it was the older woman who he moved to, with a familiarity that sent caution racing through Hadley.

"Look at her, Melina. Isn't she amazing?" Talking as if she were some prized animal to show off, as if she held no value to him. She knew that she didn't. None of them did, but whenever she actually realised it, it sent a twinge of something that she couldn't place through her.

"Yes. Incredible." Melina's words were stiff as she surveyed Hadley, her Russian accent carrying through the empty air. As if she didn't really mean it, as if there was something else behind her words.

"She is to be stationed with you until further notice. To.. survey your work with your pigs. You should not have any trouble, but you are required to care for her until she is withdrawn. She will listen to you as if you are one of her commanders. Is that Understood?" Melina nodded first, and then when Dreykov looked to Hadley, she copied the action. Another sick, satisfied smile.

"Good." Within moments, the General was gone, back through the door which he closed with a snap, and then into the jet. It was only when the sounds of its engines faded into the void that was the absence of sound that either of the women dared to move.

It was the older widow, Melina. She took a step closer to Hadley, and then another. She was close enough that Hadley could kill her in a few seconds if needed, but the younger widow remained frozen, inanimate. Melina raised her hands to Hadley's face, gently cupping it with what could only be deigned as motherly care, and twisted her face to each side gently. It was a mimic of Dreykov's position with her, earlier, so similar, but it was different. The woman was evaluating her for something, though she didn't know what. Melina's eyes snagged on something, and it was only when she removed her hands and ever-so-lightly traced her finger around the outside of a bruise that wrapped Hadley's neck that she realised what the woman was looking for. The marks that had been left on her.

"What did they do to you this time?" Something flared in Melina's eyes. Using her name felt wrong in Hadley's mind - this woman was one she'd never met before, an utter stranger. Yet she felt warmer than anyone else from this place, and her speech suggested that the woman did indeed, know her. At least, at some point. Hadley didn't answer. Didn't even take her gaze from the spot on the wall at her exact eye level.

"Are you okay?" She nodded her head, a programmed response. Melina seemed to know that, and yet the emotion flared again, even as her face fell. Hadley didn't know what she was expecting, but it had clearly not been that. She had not disappointed someone in a very long time, and she wasn't inclined to start now. It was a vice-like grip, though, that held her tongue still, a crushing weight against her windpipe that prevented her from saying anything. Silence had protected her thus far, and if it could do that in a place like this, then she would not give up on it.

"Come, I'll get you cleaned up." Melina moved, and Hadley followed, her bruised skin and held tongue a ghost that sent a shiver through her. Normally she could deal with the reminders of when she'd been broken, but in such a different presence, she was finding it unusually hard.

Hadley noted the photo album splayed open in the master bedroom, where she assumed Melina had been before Dreykov had brought her to this unfamiliar place. She caught a glimpse of red hair, of blonde. She thought nothing of it, because that was not her command.

Her command was, to follow Melina and wait until she was called back to that place again. To them. She hoped that she would have to wait a long time.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

It's literally 1am but oh well. Had this idea in school today and wanted to write it so boom, I did. I think I'm publishing the first chapter of this today, and this is about three times the length, so I hope you enjoy. Pls vote, comment, let me know what you think, etc.,

JABBERJAY_011

WORDS [3260]

WRITTEN [24/2/2022]

PUBLISHED [10/3/2022]